


It's just Business

by 6amtea



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Get Together, F/F, Jack is a mafia boss, Jack is kinda mean, M/M, Mafia AU, Mentions of Drug Use and Abuse, Modern Era, Please Be careful, Pulitzer is a mafia boss, Race is Jack's adoptive brother, Sarah Jacobs and Katherine Plumber Pulitzer are absolutely in love., Sarah Jacobs is my wife and I love her, Sarah is a college student, Spot and Race have a daughter, Spot and race are marries how did i almost forget to tag that, Spot is a mafia boss, Spot is italian, They're cute as fuck, badly translated italian, but their married, established Sprace, i hate smut folks, i love them, it's mostly plot fluff and angst, javid - Freeform, javid is like kinda backround bc i don't care that much, katherine is a private investigator for the mafia, mentions of smoking, mutual pining newsbians, newsbians, race is irish, race owns a dance studio, race's real name is antonio, she is majoring in film, spot's real name is sean, sprace, there is a lot of violence in this, there is no smut bc thats nasty, there's a bit of swearing but if you can survive the violence then the swearing is fine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6amtea/pseuds/6amtea
Summary: Spot Conlon just wants to protect his husband and daughter.Racetrack Conlon wants to escape the past haunting him and live in peace with his family.Katherine Plumber Pulitzer wants to adventure, and to defy her father, and kiss the shit out of her best friend.Jack Kelly wants to find his brother who ran away 8 years ago, and get revenge on his coworker.Sarah Jacobs wants to be able to afford a Manhattan apartment, film school, and dinner. it's hard when her roommate is so distracting. And beautiful.David Jacobs wants to not get his head blown off by the mob boss that keeps showing up to his apartment. Oh wait, he's actually kinda cute.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 40
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1 (Spot and Race)

Spot Conlon is a fair man. A loyal man. A loving man. He does what’s best for his men, his business, his family. And if what was best for them involved some morally grey actions, then that’s what needed to be done. 

Spot is a murderer. He has killed people, and continues to kill people, but with practice, it gets easier. Easier to detach yourself from your actions, from that part of your life. It was necessary, if you wanted to survive in this lifestyle. If you wanted to thrive, then it becomes an everyday routine. 

Today’s routine included an Upper-East side drug dealer. If it was a broke kid just trying to survive, Spot would leave him alone. He understood. But this guy was an upper-middle class lawyer who was stealing business from Spot and his boys. That didn’t sit right with him. He had a few messages be sent to him through word-of-mouth, but had seen no decrease in his sales. Spot didn’t feel bad for the guy now. He had his chance to stop, and he didn’t take it, so now it’s on him 

He put his best hit-man on the job. Buttons. She had been a made man for 6 years now, and she had never once let Spot down. She was always in and out, never dawdled, and never had any complications. Her nickname came from the term Button, which was hitman for the mob. She was one of the few, and she had earned that name. 

Buttons stood in front of Spot Conlon’s desk a week later and told him how it had gone down. She had followed him to an alley in SoHo, where he made a lucrative deal. When he was done, she backed him into a corner, slit his throat, and dropped the knife. Spot had told her to drop the knife. All their weapons were untraceable, and it was better to leave an untraceable weapon at the crime scene than to have it on you with the victim’s blood. 

Spot handed her the envelope that contained her cut from that week. 

“I appreciate your service, Buttons. You're a fine soldier.” He complimented. Buttons nodded in acknowledgement and slipped out the door. 

Spot continued filling out the paperwork he had been working on, but his mind drifted to the stressful events of the week. The boss of one of the other five families, the Kelly family, was trying to convince him into going to war on one of the other families, the Pulitzer Family. They were easily the oldest and strongest out of the five, and they had been getting more and more aggressive in recent years. Spot understood the appeal of challenging them, but it was too risky of an endeavor for the current situation. For the business, and for his personal life. 

He has a family to support. He had a husband, who made dinner and taught ballet and tucked in their daughter at night, and their daughter, who loved science and wanted to know everything about the world and tried to play in the filthy snow melting on the streets in late winter. He couldn’t go to prison, not with them on the line. 

The boss of the Kelly family, Jack, wouldn’t know family if it dragged him into an ally and mugged him. He had his chance at family, and he wrecked it. He broke ties with his only brother after their father had kicked him out, and that was on him. Antonio Higgins had made peace with the fact that his brother didn’t love him anymore, so he made a new life, with Spot and their daughter. 

_________________________

Spot stepped out of the elevator and immediately smelled melted cheese and rosemary. He almost felt bad for the neighbors, who had to smell all of their food but never eat it. Almost. He opened the front door to their apartment, and was met with a five year old girl slamming into his leg. 

“Daddy!” The mop of red hair giggled into Spot’s leg. 

“My topolina, I missed you!” Spot swooped his daughter, Penny, into his arms and kissed her nose. She smiled and wiggled her way out of his arms to run into the kitchen. 

“Papa, Daddy’s home!”  
Spot followed her and came up behind his husband, who stood over the stove, stirring marinara sauce. He wrapped his arms around Race’s waist, and rested his chin on his shoulder. Racetrack turned around to kiss his forehead. 

“Hey there, Spotty.” Race smiled.

“The food smells so good.”

“I mean, I hope so, because I've spent like, the last two hours making it.“

“Thanks, Tony.” Spot whispered, burying his head in his husband's shoulder and leaning on him. He smelled good, like dried herbs and cigar smoke. He tried not to smoke anymore, but sometimes he just needed a stress reliever. Never with Penny around, though. When she was at school, or on a playdate. It didn’t happen often, but the smell always stuck. Spot would never admit it, but it was a smell he had come to appreciate. 

“I swear, if you fall asleep before dinner-” Race said, pushing the falling-asleep Spot off of him. 

Spot groaned, then kissed Race’s cheek. “I’ll get the plates.”

“Penny! Dinner’s ready!” Race called to their daughter as he turned off the stove. 

Dinner ended up being one of Spot’s favourites, Tortellini. They were pasta stuffed with meat and rice, and cooked in a meat stock. Spot remembered his mother making it when he was a child. Race made them better than anyone he had ever known, even his mama, and Spot helped whenever he could. 

Penny wolfed down her dinner, and asked to be excused before either Spot or Race had half-finished theirs. 

“Are you sure you’re not still hungry?” Spot asked. 

“Yeah.”

“If you stop eating now, you won’t get any more food tonight.”

“I’m not hungry anymore.” 

“Okay, Penny, you can be excused. Please put your plate in the kitchen.” 

Penny carefully carried her empty plate to the kitchen, and walked back over to the dining room to kiss her fathers on the cheek. 

“I’m going to play cars and dolls in my room.” she said, matter-of-factly. 

“Do you want either of us to play with you, topolina?” Race asked, eating his last tortellini. Penny shook her head, then ran to her room. 

Spot took both of their dishes to the sink and started to wash them. Race sat on the counter next to sink and started talking about his day. 

“So a few of my students started on pointe, right? Which is super great for them, but one of the girls couldn’t afford a pair of shoes. So, one of my other students bought her a pair. A pair of brand new pointe shoes! She bought them herself, and the whole interaction was so sweet because it’s so obvious they like each other, and the girl who gave the shoes was beet-red throughout the whole thing, and the girl who got the shoes started crying because she was so happy and just- ugh it was so ridiculously cute!” Race finished, all in one breath. 

Spot smiled at him. He was practically a child with adhd and a dance studio. Race poked him with a finger. 

“How was your day?” Race asked carefully. He didn’t ask often, but Spot was pretty quiet tonight and he wanted to make sure that nothing was too wrong. 

“Stressful. Kelly’s been on my back for the last week about a ally-ship, and won’t drop it, but there is no way I can accept. It’s just a really risky plan.”

Race nodded. He didn’t want to know too much. He had run away from that life for a reason, but the mention of his brother put a spark of curiosity in his mind. 

“...How is Jack?” Race asked quietly. He still loved his brother, despite the circumstances of their separation. 

Spot hesitated, not wanting to worry Race, but also wanting to tell the truth.  
“He’s okay. I think he’s put his trust in some of the wrong people, though. His consigliere is a real nasty guy, and so’s his underboss. Don’t think he realizes.” 

Race nodded solemnly. He knew Jack trusted people too easily, which was a bad trait for his line of work, but he was a good person. People would take advantage of that. 

Spot noticed his silence. “Tony, Kelly’s a smart guy. I’m sure he’ll figure out their loyalties soon and get himself to a safer position. You don’t gotta worry about him.”

“Yeah,” Race said. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

Spot turned off the water and dried his hands on the dish towel before settling his hands on Race’s hips, and leaning against his knees. Race moved his arms to rest on Spot’s shoulders and leaned forward, resting their foreheads together. It was hard for Race to hear about his brother, and it was hard for Spot to deliver news about him. Spot didn’t like the guy, but Race still had a soft spot for him. That was just another part of Race that Spot loved. He was the most loyal man that Spot had ever met. 

They both had closed their eyes, just enjoying the calm moment. They rarely had calm moments like this anymore, since Penny came into their lives 5 years ago. The apartment was peaceful for another 5 seconds before Penny came running into the kitchen, wearing a Frozen onesie. 

“Daddy, Papa, I found my Elsa jammies! They were behind my bed. Can I have ice cream?” She said, barely taking a break between words. Race hopped of the counter to rummage throught the freezer. 

“Cookie dough or vanilla?”

“Vanilla. In a cone. With sprinkles.” She looked at the floor for a moment, then back up, like she had an epiphany. “Oh yeah! Please” She went into the pantry to retrieve said sprinkles. 

Spot leaned against the counter, a small smile on his face, looking completely and utterly in love with his life. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

Race slid next to him, trying to be inconspicuous. He leaned over and whispered in Spot’s ear. 

“We’re out of sprinkles.” 

Spot just snorted and shook his head at him. 

“You're gonna have to be the one to break it to her, Racer. You’ve brought this upon yourself.”  
“Noooo…” Race said dramatically, sliding over to Penny. He knelt on the floor in front of her, and bowed his head. 

“Oh gracious Lord Penny, I am afraid to say that we have no more sprinkles. You must forgive me!” He acted, pretending to hide his head in shame. 

Penny burst into laughter, and hugged her papa, who was pretend-sobbing. 

“It’s okay, Papa! I don’t need sprinkles.” Penny reassured him, which cause Race to break his act and laugh. He wrapped her in a tight hug. 

“You’re too kind, Lord Penny!” He smiled, rocking her back and forth. Spot couldn’t resist wrapping both of them in his arms, and pretending to eat Penny in that way you do with children. She shrieked with laughter. 

“I’ll save you, Lord Penny!” Race exclaimed, swooping her up and rushing her to the couch. Spot chased them, making growling noises. He pinned her to the couch and tickled her stomach as Race pretended to try and save her. 

“He’s too strong! I can’t save you, Penny!” He cried, not making any effort to protect her. 

Finally, Spot stopped, and Penny collapsed into the cushions, still slightly giggling. 

“I won.” Spot said, poking her side once more. She smiled, then yawned. 

“It’s time for bed.” Spot said, eliciting cries of protest from both Spot and Race. 

“You have school tomorrow, come on.” He picked her up from the couch, and she closed her eyes. Race followed them to her room, and helped tuck her into the turquoise blankets. She was asleep by the time the lights went out and the door had closed. 

Spot and Race stood side by side in the bathroom, brushing their teeth. 

“Bet you 5 bucks I can brush my teeth faster than you.”

“You’re a hazard to society.” 

Race launched himself into bed from the door, climbed under the covers, and pouted. 

“Cuddle me, bitch.” He commanded, scooting further under the covers. Spot walked to the bed and climbed in, and wrapped his arms around Race. He smiled sweetly. 

“You’re weak.” He said, leaning into Spot’s chest.

“And you’re insufferable.” Spot replied, turning out the bedside lamp. 

“Glad we can agree.” They held each other and drifted towards sleep. Right before Spot dropped into the unconscious, Race whispered. 

“I love you, Sean.” 

“I love you, Tony. Goodnight.”


	2. Chapter 2 (Jack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF DRUGS, SMOKING, AND ALCOHOL
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This work is not completely accurate of how the Italian mafia/mob functions. I have taken creative liberties to make it work better with the plot. 
> 
> Alright, so I really appreciate all the feedback I got on the last chapter, that means the world to me! This chapter is a bit more expository, but I really hope that you guys stick around because the future chapters will have more plot and fun character interactions. As always, please leave criticism and critique in the comments and tell me your thoughts! I really do love to read them all.

Jack Kelly leaned against a truck, watching his boys unload crates of heroin from the trucks that had just come in from Florida. They stacked them in the old warehouse in the meatpacking district that belonged to the Kelly family. It was risky, having it all in one place, but what was life without a little chance? 

Jack took a long drag from his cigarette before waving over one of the boys. 

“How can I help ya, sir?” the boy said. He was young. 

“You think you’ll be done soon?” Jack casually flicked some ashes off his shirt. 

“Yeah, in half an hour, maybe? This is quite the shipment, so it’s gonna take a while.” The boy shifted his weight nervously. Jack suddenly felt overwhelming pity for him. He was 18, 19 maybe. He should be going to college, not dealing with this. 

Jack nodded. “Thanks, kid.” He paused. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, um, Albert DaSilva, sir.” 

“You sell for us?”

“Yeah, in Midtown. Coke.”

Jack hummed. “Well hey, it’s great to have you. You take the Omerta?”

Albert nodded. “Two months ago.” 

“All right, well, there’s no backing out now.” Jack joked, but it was the truth. 

Albert cracked a smile. “I got that much.”

“Nice talking to you, Albert. Better get back to unloading.” Jack said, dropping his finished butt on the ground and stomping it out. 

Albert gave him a two-finger salute and hopped into the back of one of the trucks. 

Jack surveyed the scene. There were maybe 10 trucks, with 30 guys unloading boxes upon boxes and carrying them to the back wall. Albert was laughing with a group of other guys that looked around the same age.

Guilt seeped into Jack’s chest, which he quickly pushed away. It wasn’t his fault they made the decision to join. It wasn’t. He was just the guy in charge of making sure they didn’t get killed on anyone else’s orders. Tony would’ve gotten himself shot, Jack thought. He was always the more reckless of the two, and had a tendency to pick fights with the wrong people. Like he did with their father. 

Jack shook his head. He always came back to Tony, despite him making it very clear he doesn’t want to be found. He left over eight years ago, dammit. Jack needs to accept the fact that his brother wants nothing to do with this life. His family. Jack. 

Jack left the warehouse, making sure that his underboss, Morris Delancey, was supervising. He walked a block and half to his unofficial office, the backroom of an underground bar. It made a good cover, and he could always meet friends there right afterwards. If he had friends. 

The bartender didn’t bat an eye at Jack nimbly hopping the bar and disappearing behind the wall of bottles. Mario always had his back. 

He settled himself behind his desk in the small office. It was made of brick, with dim hanging lights, and always smelled like booze. Covering the walls were newspaper articles and photos, mostly of customers or associates. Jack had lots of customers. 

See, he mostly dealt with drugs, bootlegging, and weaponry, goods instead of services. He was losing out on bootlegging as alcohol restrictions were lifted, and decriminalizing Marijuana in most places was a devastating hit to his income. He had struggled for a few years, but it all worked itself out. 

In the last few months though, Joseph Pulitzer, the head of the Pulitzer Family, was trying to take some of his business, like he wouldn’t notice. Joe was a powerful man, more powerful than Jack, and he liked to make sure everyone knew. 

Pulitzer didn’t think people so young should be in such positions of power. He especially held it against Jack and Spot Conlon, although he’s sure there’s several other reasons to be wary of Spot. They were both only 17 when they entered, which is unheard of, and they rose to power very quickly. Jack with his wit and charm, Spot with his fists and intelligence. 

Pulitzer was trying to take advantage of his youth and steal his customers looking for weapons. It was an arms race, but not for long, he hoped.

Jack had tried talking to Spot about starting a war with Pulitzer. He knew that it was risky, and he knew that that was why Spot had refused, but Pulitzer and his family didn’t like getting their hands dirty. If the Kelly and Conlon families teamed up, they would easily have enough manpower to knock him down a few pegs. Or kill him. 

Jack had a pretty small family, but his guys were loyal to the bone. Spot had the most members. The Brooklyn boys were mostly poor kids with nowhere else to go, but Spot turned them into soldiers, and there were a lot of them. They knew Spot was a good leader, and did anything he asked for, no questions asked. Jack just had to convince him to say the word. 

Jack contemplated the situation for a few more minutes, then picked up the phone that sat on his desk. There was no harm in asking Spot if his answer had changed, right? He dialed the number that went to Spot’s usual office space. It rang four times before he picked up. 

“...Hello?” 

“Spot? It’s Jack Kelly.”

“Can I help you?”

“I just had a question for ya.”

“And you called me?” 

Jack understood his concerns about the phone. Wiretaps were a big issue, but Jack knew how to talk without revealing anything. 

“I just wanted to see if you had changed that mind a’ yours.” 

“Listen, Kelly. I gave you my answer, and you shoulda respected that to begin with. But you didn’t,” He paused. “I don’t appreciate that, but it worked out okay for you. I see the benefits, but if i’m being frank, I don’t completely trust you.” Spot answered. It sounded to Jack like he was considering it. 

“It seems like you’ve had a change of heart in some areas, Spot.”

Spot sigh. “I’ll help you and your boys, Jack, on one condition. You show me you’re actually committed to this. You’re determined. When Pulitzer fights back, you won’t go running.” 

That was a lot to ask for, but it was understandable. Spot didn’t want to back them to then get abandoned. He didn’t have as much of a bone to pick with Pulitzer as Jack did, and losing the fight would hurt his business. But Jack wasn’t that kind of guy. 

“You mean if we initiate the war and stand our ground, you’ll back us?” Jack asked to confirm.

“That’s my offer, Kelly.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Spot.” 

The line went dead, and Jack silently congratulated himself. He just won over the most stubborn man in New York. But with that came a new wave of responsibilities. He couldn’t lose this fight. If he backed down, he wouldn’t only lose Spot’s help, but his respect. And his own boys’ respect. That was just more motivation to succeed, right? Right. 

Jack left the desk and went back into the bar. Requesting a drink from Mario the Bartender, he settled himself onto a stool and looked around for someone to talk to. 

Ah. A man about his age sat two stools down, alone. He drank a glass of water, Jack assumed, or was really hardcore and was drinking straight vodka. 

“Designated Driver?” He asked, pointing to his glass. 

The guy smiled. “Yeah. I would still be hanging out with my friends, but it seems that I have no impulse control, and end up getting wasted.”

Jack laughed. “I’ve that problem with my brother. He would get a dollar bet to chug an entire bottle of cheap whiskey and lose like 30 bucks, and we lose our driver.” He thought for a second. “It was for the best though, because he was probably a better drunk driver than sober. Not that we ever tested that theory.”

The guy smiled widely and shook his head. “That sounds like something my girlfriend would do. She can’t refuse anything with winning money involved.” 

“That was my brother all right.” Jack shook his head and took a sip of his drink. The guy smiled again. He looked like he was going to say something else, but then someone shouted and he got up. 

“My posse is calling me, but it was great talking to you. Have a nice night.” He waved goodbye, and left. Jack turned back to the bar.

His mind drifted back to memories of Tony. It seemed that in the last few months he had been on his mind more and more. They were both the adoptive sons of James Kelly, who had been the head of the Kelly family for 30 years. 

Jack got his last name, but James had adopted Tony much later, when Tony was 10 and Jack was 11. They were brothers almost immediately. They went through high school together, and took the omerta together. The omerta is a binding oath to pledge yourself to the Italian mob, but Jack always knew that Tony didn’t want to take it. Tony had always wanted to be a dancer, not a mobster. He hoped he was, in his new life. Wherever that was. 

Jack finished his drink, and left the building. He needed some fresh air. 

He wandered in the general direction of his building, taking detours through allies and looking through little shop windows. He felt drunk, though he only had one drink. Jack wondered if Tony had stayed in New York. Jack had always wanted to move out west, to a place with less people, like Santa Fe or Phoenix, but Tony had always just seemed so suited to this city. He would smoke on the fire escapes and dance in the rooftop gardens, and would run down the subway tunnels on dares. Jack’s surprised he never got hit by a train.

Jack looked up from the ground to his apartment. He didn’t remember most of the trip here. That wasn’t a good sign, but he shrugged it off. 

Opening the door, he stepped over tarps and half-finished paintings and went straight to his kitchen. Looking in the fridge, he frowned at the options.

For someone who made millions of dollars a year, it came as a surprise that Jack only had week old Chinese takeout and half a can of iced tea in his fridge. He settled on the Chinese, ate it quickly, and started getting ready for bed. 

Jack had just pulled his sweats on when someone knocked on the door. That was weird. It must be a neighbor, because his buzzer didn’t go off to let them in. 

Jack looked through the peephole to the dim hallway. A young woman with reddish hair stood in front of the door, panting. She looked vaguely familiar, but Jack couldn’t place her as anyone dangerous. He opened it. 

The woman stood taller as the door opened. 

“Sorry about the panting, I just ran here. Are you Jack Kelly?” She said, smiling. 

Jack looked her up and down to see any places she could be hiding weapons. She was wearing a hoodie and sweats. 

“Well, depends who’s asking.” 

She scowled deeply. “A woman who doesn’t appreciate being looked at like a piece of meat, pervert.” Jack could see where that came from. He was just looking for threats, honest. She was gorgeous, though. 

He apologized. “Sorry, Miss. Can I help you?” 

“My name is Katherine Pulitzer, and I’m here to talk to Jack Kelly.” She crossed her arm over her chest. “Is that you?”

Out of all the people who could have visited him tonight, this was the last person he would have expected. The daughter of the man he was planning on assassinating. Now that he thought about it, this would be a great opportunity to have some leverage against ol’ Joe. Take his daughter hostage, but Jack wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t really that kind of man. 

Jack opened the door for her to step inside. She did, and made herself at home on the couch. Jack took the armchair. 

“I have a piece of information you may potentially want. I am willing to give it to you in exchange for a promise of a service.” Katherine said. 

Jack didn’t like making promises, and he didn’t like providing services. Katherine probably knew this, so this information must have been good. “What kind of information? What service?” 

Katherine looked down for a moment. “I want you to challenge my father.” 

Jack almost laughed. He was planning on doing that anyways, and now he could do it with a reward of valuable information. But why would Pulitzer’s daughter want him to lose power? 

“And why would you want that?” Jack asked her. 

“I don’t like the way he runs things. I’ve seen the way you handle business. You do what’s best for your family. You have compassion, loyalty. The only thing my father has is greed. I want you to run the mob in New York, not him. I want a leader who cares about their men, and I’ve talked to your boys. They say that you’re a good leader, but also care for them.”

“But why wouldn’t you just take over from him and become the leader yourself?” Jack asked. He wasn’t sure why Katherine was coming to him specifically. 

Katherine shook her head. “I never took the omerta, and I don’t want to. I could never be in this life completely. Besides, I don’t think I could be as good of a leader as you.” 

Jack considered this. “So say I agreed. Why do I want this information you have?” 

“I wasn’t done.” Katherine said. “I also want you to hire me as your private investigator. I need a case, and with this information, you’ll have one.” 

“Would you please just tell me why is this information so important?” 

Katherine paused, then took a deep breath.

“I have a lead on the missing persons case of your brother, Antonio Higgins."


	3. Chapter 3 (Katherine and Sarah)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This work is not completely accurate of how the Italian mafia/mob functions. I have taken creative liberties to make it work better with the plot.
> 
> I know it's been a hot minute, but online school has been absolutely kicking my ass. This chapter is a lot shorter than the others, and I've never written Katherine or Sarah so I'm really sorry if it seems ooc, but I'm trying my best here. As always, criticism and critique are extremely valued and tell me anything you do or don't like about the story.

Running up the steps from the subway station, Katherine Pulitzer headed towards her apartment building. She ran down the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding bumping into several people. 

Katherine was excited. She had gotten her first official case, a missing persons case for the brother of a mob boss, no less. This was the start of her real career. 

Now she just had to find a way to keep it a secret from her father. That might be an issue, seeing as that’s where she had gotten the lead to begin with. She had been looking for any information on her father that might be compromising. She had wanted her father out of his throne for almost as long as she had known about it. Of course, Katherine didn’t want him to die, but she knew that he needed to be gone. It was for the greater good. 

Katherine buzzed the intercom to her and Sarah’s shared apartment building, not bothering to get her key out. 

“Hey Saz, can you buzz me in?” She says between breaths. The buzzer sounds, and she’s in, heading for the elevator. 

The doors opened, and Kath went to her front door, not needing to unlock it. They always kept it unlocked when they both were awake. 

Katherine giddily ran up to Sarah, who was laying on the couch on her phone. 

“Should I ask what’s up, or just wait for you to explode?” Sarah asked, smiling lazily. 

“I got a case! And for Jack Kelly of all people. Oh, it’s a good one. About his brother, you know the one I told you about. And in exchange he’s gonna challenge my father-” 

“Kath, that’s great!” She stood up and threw her arms around her friend. “I’m so proud of you!”  
Her hair smelled good. Kath felt herself turn bright red but managed to wrap her arms around Sarah’s waist. 

Katherine broke the hug.“I know, and I already have a lead! I was going through my father’s files and I found some papers on a legal name change for Antonio Higgins, and I think there’s more but I didn’t have time to look.” She moved to sit on the couch, and Sarah sat on the floor. 

“Do you think your father suspects anything about you? Going against him, I mean.” Sarah asked. 

Katherine fiddled with her hands. “I don’t think so, but I have to be careful. He’s my main source of information and I can’t afford to lose that.” 

Sarah nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. I mean, I don’t really know that much about the actual fucking mafia, but getting on the nerves of the most powerful man in New York doesn’t seem like great idea.”

Kath snorted. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

“Just remember to be careful. Can’t have my best friend on the news as a murder victim, can I?”

Katherine kicked her feet up onto the ottomon. “That wouldn’t be ideal, no.” 

It was nice to joke around about Katherine’s real life with Sarah so casually. They had been roommates for about 2 years before Kath had finally told her, but Sarah had already figured that something was up. They lived in an expensive apartment, and Sarah was a film student and Kath was a struggling PI. There shouldn’t have been a way for ends to meet, but they lived comfortably. Sarah had figured that there had to be another source of money, and Kath had to confess that her father was paying for her part of the rent, and he could afford to because of his occupation. Sarah was more astonished than surprised, and had asked tons of questions, mainly about the accuracy of the Godfather and Goodfellas. It was expected, seeing as you don’t really hear about mob bosses anymore. 

Sarah nudged Katherine’s leg with her foot, pulling them out of their comfortable silence. “Hey, do you think I could make a documentary about your investigation?”

A pause. 

“What?” 

“I wouldn’t say anything about where the information is coming from, or course. I could just do some independent research and do a kind of buzzfeed unsolved thing where we explain what happened and possible theories on where he went. It is still an open case, right?” Sarah explained, looking up at Katherine. “I have to make a documentary for class, and you would be a great subject.”

It was still an open case, and it wouldn’t be that suspicious. Only Saz’s teacher would see it. 

Sarah looked up at her hopefully. 

Kath found herself nodding. “Okay. Yeah, let’s do it.”

“You’re the best, you know that, Kath? The best.” Sarah smiled softly. Katherine managed a small “yep” as her brain short-circuited. 

Sarah’s glowing smile fell slightly. “I’m not hijacking your case, am I? You were really excited about it. Just tell me if i’m stepping over a line.” 

“You’re not hijacking anything, Saz. I think that this could possibly be fun.” Kath assured her. “We just have to be careful.”

Sarah nodded. “And we will. I don’t want to be on anyone’s hit list.”

Katherine reached for the TV remote. “Alright, well, now that we’ve established that, are there any new episodes of The Marvelous Ms. Maisel?”

Sarah took her place next to her on the couch. “No, but John Mulaney’s special is out now.” 

Katherine shook her head. “We could watch The Office, or Brooklyn 99.” 

“The Office is good. I don’t think I’ve seen anything past season two.”

Kath picked an episode, and leaned into Sarah’s side. Saz laughed quietly every couple minutes, and several episodes had passed before they were both quietly asleep. 

The next morning, they woke up wrapped around each other. Katherine would be lying if she said that that wasn’t the best she had slept in weeks despite her now-sore neck.

Sarah had been late to class, but she hadn’t seemed too eager to leave the couch after her eyes had opened that morning either.


	4. Chapter 4 (Jack and David)

The plan was simple. Pulitzer always eats at the same cafe every Wednesday morning. They walk in, shoot him, and have his guys flank him as they leave. It was messy, and it was brash, but with Jack’s inside connections to the FBI and the Police Department, it wouldn’t be a huge problem pulling some strings and making it seem like one of those shootings that happens so often. 

Jack was doing the hit himself. He wasn’t a fan of murder, really, but he couldn’t trust anyone besides himself on this job. 

The New York Mob was big, and it was so intertwined with the government that you wouldn’t be surprised if a few presidents were in on it, once you knew all the inner workings. Jack didn’t come off a particularly intelligent guy. And he wasn’t, by some of the mob standards. He was clever, sure, but more than that, he was charming. People liked him. He would’ve made a great politician if the occasion ever arose, or so he’d been told. 

So why was he so nervous? Practically nothing could go wrong. He had guys watching the premises for the last two hours, and they had given the go signal. He had a fallback, and if worst comes to worst, he could always get out on bail, if he asked a few people. 

Jack rested his head against the steering wheel of the car that was parked outside the cafe. It was almost time, and Jack was worried he might throw up. He could manage this. He had done worse. No matter what happened, he had always done worse. 

The car clock struck 7:30. 

Jack opened the door, and stepped onto the sidewalk. He walked up to the door and entered, making a bee-line for the man sitting at a little table in the corner. When he reached inside his jacket for the pistol, it seemed to go in slow motion. 

Pulitzer looked up at him. 

His eyes widened. 

The trigger was pulled. 

His head snapped back, and blood spattered across the wall. A groan came out of his mouth as his body fell out of the chair, then nothing more. Jack turned and hurried out the door, got into the car, and drove away. 

__________________________________

It was about two days later when it all went to shit. 

Later that day, on the news, the story of the attempted shooting at the cafe was broadcasted. It only said that one person was injured, and his current state was confidential. All fine and dandy. 

But when no new information was put out the next day, the feeling in Jack’s gut sat even heavier. He knew that something was going to go wrong. He had felt it from the moment he planned the hit. 

When the letter, closed with a wax seal, appeared on his desk, Jack decided that he wanted red flowers at his funeral. 

The paper was expensive. Too nice to be wasted on stationary, in Jack’s opinion. He picked it up with shaking hands and carefully tore it open. 

Mr. Jack Kelly,

We are pleased to inform you that your attempt on  
Joseph Pulitzer’s life has been noted, and we will be  
responding shortly. Thank you for making your intentions  
clear and informally declaring a war between the Pulitzer  
and Kelly crime families. 

Regards, the Pulitzer Family

As far as death threats go, that was the most polite one he had ever received. Also, what the fuck? 

He had shot Pulitzer in the head. How he had managed to survive that, Jack had no idea. But he did, and now he was out for blood. 

If God was real, then he had a vendetta against Jack Kelly. It was the only logical explanation for why everything in his life that could go wrong, did go wrong. 

There wasn’t much he could do besides try and finish the job. The target on his head was the main issue. He could be shot or stabbed or hit or poisoned or any other form of murdered at any given time. 

He picked up his phone and called his underboss, Oscar Delancey. He shouldn’t be busy. 

He picked up on the fourth ring. “Oscar Delancey, how can I help you?” He had a smooth, cold voice. 

“I need some people to back me for a few days.” Jack said. “It’s Jack, by the way.”

“Oh? Our Jackie in a dangerous situation?”

“You know about Pulitzer?”

“Everyone knows about Pulitzer.”

“He’s not dead. And now he’s out for blood.”

“You made a mistake, Jack. I’m not responsible for that.”

Sometimes Jack really couldn’t stand Oscar. 

“I know, Oscar, but this is an order, alright? I need a couple guys to flank me pretty much everywhere. Just get some foot soldiers.”

“I’ll get on it.” Jack could practically taste the bitterness in his voice. 

“‘Preciate it.” 

“I just had a question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Wasn’t Spot Conlon supposed to back you?” 

Oh, that bastard. 

“Spot had said that he would support us if I challenged Pulitzer. If everyone knew, then Spot knew. And if Spot knew, then he had purposefully chosen to go back on his promise.” Jack unraveled his thoughts to Oscar. 

“He wronged you, Jack.”

“And it’s not like I had backed down. I had shot him in the head, goddamnit! There was no excuse for Spot abandoning me.” Jack’s hand holding the receiver was turning white. 

“Sounds like you need to show Conlon a lesson.”

“Damn straight I do!” He didn’t really mean to yell, but he was seconds away from throwing something. 

“I happen to have a guy here with some information on his family. I could order a hit, if that’s what you want.”

“I-”

“Perfect. I’ll get him on the job right now.” A slimy smile was evident in his voice. 

Then he was gone. Jack dropped the receiver. 

He needed to calm down. He couldn’t think like this. What needed to be done. What needed to be done was Jack needed to get over it. Maybe accidentally ordering a hit on Spot Conlon’s elusive family was good for Jack’s business. He knew that people thought of him as the softest of the five families. Maybe this would change his reputation. Yeah. 

But his family. They were innocent. Probably. And he had said family, not spouse. He probably had kids! Oh god. Jack just killed a child. Their blood was on his hands. 

But that was this business. Toughen up, he told himself. The hit was ordered. It was too late. And he would have to live with that. 

Jack sat down behind his desk and pulled his computer out of his desk. He needed to distract himself with something else, and he also needed to look into what the FBI knew about the scene of Pulitzer’s shooting. 

He logged onto the laptop and opened the program that gave him access to the FBI’s files. One of his guys had done it for him. Crutchie Morris. Nice kid. 

After a bit of looking, he found it. They didn’t have all that much, due to some well placed insiders, but the information they had scrounged up had gone a long way. They didn’t usually get this far with so little recorded evidence. 

Jack checked the lead investigator. Oh, he was new. David Jacobs, it said. Fresh out of Quantico, top of his class. Only 26 years old, and already leading an investigation. That was impressive. He found a link to this David Jacobs’s file. 

It listed his health statistics and a bunch of other boring stuff. Jack didn’t bother with that, searching for one specific thing. 

Ah, there it was. Jack wrote the address down on his hand. He was going to pay Mr. FBI Agent a visit. 

__________________________________

His guys were flanking him as soon as he left. They drove to address tensely, all knowing that a hit could come from anywhere.

They got there safely, and Jack took two guys up with him. There was no buzzer to get up. It was a cheap place. For such a successful man, David sure had inexpensive taste. 

He approached the apartment door, and tried the door. It was locked, but Jack fixed that quick enough, and he was in. 

It was a tidy studio apartment. This guy was a neat freak. Nothing was out of place, but there wasn’t much to begin with. Just a bed, a tv, a couch, and a small kitchenette. And probably a bathroom somewhere. 

Jack ordered his boys to stand guard outside the door, and closed the door behind him. He was making himself vulnerable, but he wanted to intimidate David all by himself. 

He hoisted himself onto the counter, started peeling an orange, and waited. 

David came home about five minutes later. Thank god, because Jack was getting bored out of his mind. 

The door opened, and in he walked. Jack thought back to the photo in his file. It did not do him justice. He was cute. Really cute. 

“Who the hell are you?” David stood in the doorway, holding an umbrella over his shoulder like a baseball bat. His voice was shaking slightly. 

Jack set down his orange sections. “David Jacobs, is it? I think we need to talk.” He grinned slyly at him. 

David tightened his grip on the umbrella. “Get out, or I’m calling the police.”

“Don’t you have a gun or something, Agent Jacobs?” 

David stayed quiet. 

Jack casually walked over to him and ripped the umbrella from his hands before he had time to swing. David tried going back through the door, but his guys were keeping it shut. Jack had him cornered. 

“I’ll just jump right into it. You know your investigation? Very impressive, I have to say. You’re good at what you do.” 

David took deep breaths. “What about it?”

“I need you to stop being good. Your case is on something I would rather not have looked into.” 

“Why?” David seemed to be relaxing, just a little. 

Jack weighed his options. He could leave David in the dark, but he could also tell him. Use his position and actions as a scare tactic. 

“I killed him. And I’ll kill you too.” Woah woah woah. Rein it in, Jack. That came off way more severe than he had intended. 

David shrinked back into the corner. “Who are you?” 

“Jack Kelly. Pleasure to meet you.” He smiled, going for charismatic. 

“You're on the Top Ten most wanted list.” David said. Jack detected something he thought might be awe in his voice. 

“Number 8, if I’m correct. Not sure what for though. It’s not like you can prove anything.”

“I’m not doing anything for you.” 

Jack sighed. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.” He pulled his pistol out of his jacket. Aiming it straight at David’s forehead, he switched the safety off. Not like he would actually shoot him though. 

They held eye contact for a few seconds. Jack could see the fear in his eyes. David caved. 

“I’ll do it. Please, please just put the gun down.” His voice broke on the last word. 

Jack felt a pang of pity for him, that he tried to ignore. He was getting soft. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Davey. So, you try some leads, don’t get anywhere with them, and then the case goes cold. Easy peasy.”

David’s mouth quirked up at the easy peasy bit. 

“I’ll be checking in, Agent Jacobs. If you tell anyone, both you and them will be dead within the hour. Got it?”

David nodded his head. 

Jack walked out the door, his guys in tow.

On the drive back to his office, his mind wandered back to Spot Conlon's Family. He was going to kill them. 

Jack pushed those thoughts out and replaced them with something, anything else. David Jacobs’s face came to mind. Those deep brown eyes, his curly hair-

Jack shook his head. He needed a hobby, that didn’t involve murder and crushing on cute FBI agents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and again, so sorry for the delay. The past few weeks have been very stressful, but I finally finished this chapter.
> 
> Happy pride month to all the LGBTQ+ people reading! I hope you have a great month despite there being no parades. And if you are against the BLM movement, remember that the first pride was a riot started by a trans woman of color. 
> 
> If you are going to protests, please stay safe, and if you are white, put yourself between people of color and the police. 
> 
> Remember to take a break for social media if needed. It can be stressful and triggering to constantly be bombarded with information on people being unjustly murdered. Please educate yourself, but keep your mental health in mind, and don't endanger yourself.


	5. Chapter 5 (David and Race)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a HOT MINUTE since i've worked on this. Am I proud of this chapter? not particularly. Do I feel bad for practically abandoning this fic so I wrote a new chapter? Yes I did. Please enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is not completely representative of how the mob/mafia works. I have taken creative liberties to fit better with the plot. 
> 
> It is more representative of the mob in the early to mid-20th century, and their power has died down. Or they got better at hiding it. I'm not a mobster, so...

David slowly opened his eyes to see the early morning light streaming through the window. Turning off his alarm, he padded over the kitchenette for some coffee. On the counter sat 4 dried orange sections. 

He stared at them, remembering the man who had sat on his counter not even 12 hours ago. David had never been that terrified in his life. To come home, see two strange men outside your house, and one inside? He had just been glad that his will was already written. 

The man had said his name was Jack Kelly. David knew who he was, of course, but didn’t have any information on him. That’s how it was with organized crime. They were always one step ahead. And they always had moles, whether they were placed there or bought off somewhere down the line. Kelly had to be a smart man to control an empire as big as the american underworld. Or one fifth of it, at least. 

And he seemed awful nice. David mulled over this while brewing a pot of coffee. 

In his line of work, it was necessary to interact with criminals of all sorts. And he had climbed the ranks fast enough for him to know that he was good at what he did. 

When Jack was sitting on David’s kitchen counter, he hadn’t acted like any criminal David had interrogated before. He had been completely at ease. Not that calculated, practiced relaxed state either, like he had been lounging in his own living room. 

David got ready for work in just a few minutes. He didn’t have much to do in the mornings. Most of his life revolved around work. Wake up, make coffee, get dressed, go to work. 

Sarah would have his head if she knew about his living state. He made a mental note to call her. Not that he would. He didn’t even know if her number was the same, after all these years. 

XXX

“Hey, David! Nice job on the cafe case!” A coworker called out to him as he stepped out of the elevator. 

“Thanks.” He replied, a beat too late. _Great job Dave. you made it awkward._

He made his way to the little cubical he had. The next few hours would mostly be cataloging and looking into fine details of past cases and trials. Pretty boring, until you got into the active cases and chasing leads. That’s why David liked his job. It was like solving a puzzle. Thrilling, but he didn’t have to do field work. 

It had been 2 hours, and David was looking at the third cold case of the day. An embezzlement case, in which the main suspect had walked, free of charges. David clicked on the suspect’s file. He was also tried for murder and tax fraud on several different occasions, walking every time. 

His name was James Kelly. Kelly. David scrolled down to his personal information, some vague medical history…

_aha._

Listed under immediate family, he had two sons, both adopted. Jack Kelly and Antonio Higgins. 

He clicked on the link to Jack’s file. It was pretty much bare. Nothing incriminating whatsoever. _So why did they have his file?_

David went back and clicked on Antonio’s file. It didn’t work. He tried again. It said it was a link, but nothing on the screen changed when he clicked. Interesting. 

“Mike?” David leaned over the short wall of the cubical to his left. “Can you find some background for me on these two people?” 

Mike, in the cubical neighboring his, slipped his headset around his shoulders. “Yeah, what’re the names?”

“Jack Kelly and Antonio Higgins.” 

“You got it, Dave.”

David went back to work. More sorting and cataloging. Yay. 

XXX

“And pas de bourree, pas de bourree...” Race watched his students’ feet carefully as they danced across the floor in delicate motions. 

“Alright guys, I’ll see you next week. Make sure you sign up for the spring performance, the sheet is in the lobby.” Race concluded the class and started ushering people out the door. As much as he loved his students, his favorite time of his day was when all his classes were finished and he had the studio to himself. 

Dancing had always seemed like the easiest thing in the world to him. It came as naturally as walking. Race had started lessons when he was 12, a year after he had been adopted. His dad saw how much he danced around the house, and it’s not like they couldn’t afford it. 

The music he had put on filled the room, and his body moved in response. It was more lyrical than ballet, but anyone with eyes could tell that he was incredibly talented. 

He lost track of time. He always did when he was dancing. The songs changed, the tempos changed, but the passion in the movement stayed the same. 

Just as Race finished in fifth position, the music stopped. His eyes were closed. He had a habit of that, which was not great for dancing with other people. Oh well. 

Flipping off the lights, Race made his way down the stairs to the floor level to close up. Albert, one of the teachers and Race’s best friend, was sitting behind the reception desk. 

“Hey Al, I was just about to head out.” Race tossed him the keys. “Lock up, will you?” 

Albert caught them without even looking away from the screen. “You got it, man. We still on for tomorrow night?” 

Race clicked his tongue and made finger guns at him. “You bet your ass we are. Elmer agreed to watch Penny, so Spot can come too.” 

“Nice. Night, Race.”

Race waved as the door shut behind him. He made his way to the subway station on the corner, and started the journey home. 

The subway always reminded him of his childhood. He had been in the foster system since he was a baby, going from home to home. Was he a troubled kid? Yeah, you could say that. The subway had been his only escape from shitty foster homes and he would ride it for hours on end. 

He had done it less since he went to live with the Kellys, but it still was a safe place. 

Race got off the train at his stop in Brooklyn. It was an expensive neighborhood, but he and Spot could afford it. Mostly Spot. 

Wait a second. Was it his day to pick up Penny? He picked her up yesterday. But didn’t Spot say something about working late tonight? 

Race fished his phone out of his dance bag and called Spot’s personal phone. 

“Hey, Tony,”

Race walked up the steps to the apartment. “Hey, I can’t remember if it’s your day to pick up Penny or mine.” 

Race could hear badly covered laughing on the other end. “Jesus Racer, her daycare ended two hours ago.” 

“So I’m hoping you picked her up?”

“Yeah, she’s with me. We went to the park for a bit.”

Race unlocked the door and set his bag down. “Without me? Fine, i guess i’ll just go slave over the stove so you can come home to a fresh cooked meal.” He sighed dramatically. “I’m so unappreciated.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Be home soon. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.” 

Race set his phone down and hopped in the shower for a quick rinse. Then he would get started on dinner. 

XXX

“Oh, Miss Penny!” Race kneeled to hug her as she ran through the open front door. 

“Hi Papa! How was your day, mine was great in class we got to touch frogs and Rogelio my table partner dared Kyle to lick one and then Kyle and Rogelio got in trouble and Lonnie said that boys were gross and then I got a pencil stuck-” 

Race picked her up and returned to the stove to stir the pot. “Slow down there, topolina, gotta breath too.” 

Penny wrapped her little arms around his neck. “Me and Daddy had fun at the park. I chased pigeons.” 

Race chuckled. “Yeah?”

She nodded, and wiggled to get down. Race set her down and made his way to Spot, who was going through the mail by the door. 

Race kissed him softly, his hand resting on his cheek. There was a bit of stubble. He must’ve skipped shaving this morning. Spot smiled, breaking the connection.

“I missed you.” He mumbled. 

“Long day?”

“The longest.”

Race kissed his forehead before wrapping him in a warm hug. Spot sighed deeply and leaned into the contact. He was secretly a cuddler, but would kill anyone who told. 

“I hope that means you're hungry too.”

“If it’s your cooking, I’m starving.”

Race towed him to the kitchen. “Perfect. I need a taste tester for this sauce recipe.”

XXX

Spot pulled him aside after dinner, leaving Penny to watch her show on pbs kids. 

“We need to talk.” His voice was low. 

Alright, that’s usually not a great sentence.

They sat down at the table next to each other. Spot had his hands folded in front of him. His fingers were turning white, he was gripping them so hard together. Race had noticed that he did this when he was anxious, to keep from showing his nerves and to keep up a professional appearance. 

He pried Spot’s hands apart and took hold of them. “You know we can handle whatever it is, Sean.”

Spot nodded. “I know, but it involves your... exit.”

Dread seeped into Race’s chest. He knew that he would never fully get out. You didn’t just leave the mob. Not like he had. 

Spot’s eyes flicked to the living room, where their 5 year old daughter sat. 

“I got word of someone digging around in your disappearance. I don’t think that they’ve gotten any important information, but just be a bit more cautious than usual.” 

Race ran a hand through his hair. “Okay.” And it wasn’t really okay, but hey. 

Spot pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

Race just clung tighter to his husband. 

“It’s gonna be fine. We’ll be fine.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Projecting my love of ballet onto Race because he's my favorite? It's more likely than you think. 
> 
> Please comment and critique or criticisms you have, or stuff you want more of!


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